


Only witches can fold fitted sheets

by Niedergeschlagen



Series: Tell the bees [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: (It's Cosette), (i'm sorry), Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, F/F, I'm sorry this is really emo it was supposed to be fluffy, Past Child Abuse, The past child abuse is implied very briefly through Cosette's scars, They're actually in love and it's real healthy it's just that sometimes love feels heavy alright
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 10:42:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12769341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niedergeschlagen/pseuds/Niedergeschlagen
Summary: She feels the terrific weight of Éponine's words, feels the trust placed in her, the faith, the hope — so heavy it twinges painfully in her chest.





	Only witches can fold fitted sheets

Kissing Éponine feels like kissing the second harvest. She's warm, inviting; her arms surround Cosette, they envelop her in a circle of crackling heat. She smells like spices, like aniseed and clover, and her tongue is sharp with a tang of wine. Kissing Éponine feels like coming home and taking your boots off. Cosette feels the relief, the safe haven of Éponine's affections. She feels the weariness and wariness slither out of her — she suspects it to be Éponine's doing. She feels her meticulously constructed glamours melt off. The bubbling, sparkling feeling of magick dancing on her skin washes off, waves of heat slosh over her, cleanse her, purify her.

Éponine strokes her cheek, she trails her thumb over Cosette's scars. "You shouldn't have to do this," she says quietly, black eyes boring into hers, searching for snippets of emotions, bundles of thought.

Cosette ducks her head. Her hair cascades around her face, hiding most of the damaged skin. "I know."

She avoids Éponine's eyes and stares at her pale hands instead. Éponine's fingers are stained with something dark, blood probably, or crushed berries. Cosette dares not to ask. Instead, she fidgets with the amulet on her wrist. She twists the electric blue twine around her finger, where the yarn is loose. She doesn't like to talk about it. She never has.

Éponine hooks a finger under her chin and lifts it up. Cosette doesn't meet her eyes.

"Please, look at me," Éponine says, almost pleads, but Cosette shakes her head.

Éponine sighs. It's not a disappointed sigh, not an exasperated sigh. She isn't tired of Cosette, far from it. She just sighs, because that's how Éponine is. She leans forward to kiss Cosette's forehead. Then her right cheek, left, the tip of her nose, her eyelids. She kisses Cosette once more on the lips.

"You're like Spring," she says, and Cosette looks at her. "You're the breath in my lungs."

Hot tears, bitter ones, prick at the corners of Cosette's eyes. She's not angry at Éponine for saying that. She could be, but she's not. She feels the terrific weight of Éponine's words, feels the trust placed in her, the faith, _the hope_ — so heavy it twinges painfully in her chest. So heavy she scarce dares to breathe, but she does. She breathes in the scent of Éponine, the drying blood on her hands, the spices, the herbs, the smoke. The pain in her chest is worse, but it's not a bad pain. It's the weight of her love, so heavy she can hardly bear it. But she does, she does, because she wants nothing more than she wants Éponine. And she knows Éponine is there, with a similar weight within her, with a maelstrom of emotion wreaking havoc inside her. 

Kissing Éponine is like kissing the second harvest, loving her is like opening a book. Being loved by Éponine is like trying to shoulder the weight of the universe.

And Cosette tries.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where the title comes from. I'm pretty sure I saw it on the internet once, but oh you know. The duality of man, the turntables, et cetera. Cosette is a fitted sheet, Éponine is a witch, ergo, folding fitted sheets. This is also me being really pissed off about moving to another country during Mabon, missing my favourite sabbat, and forgetting all of my four grimoires in my old country.


End file.
